


Deep Thoughts

by mrstater



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Clash of Kings, Canon Compliant, F/M, Lust, Missing Scene, Qarth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t that Jorah misliked the Qartheen fashion... [set during ACOK]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonQueenAndHerBear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonQueenAndHerBear/gifts).



It wasn’t that Jorah misliked the Qartheen fashion. The truth of the matter was that the fashion, at least that of the women—particularly _one_ woman—was the only thing he did appreciate about this damnable city. He’d have to be a bloody eunuch not to. Which was decidedly _not_ the case, as evidenced by the condition which Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ dining table thankfully concealed.

No, Jorah Mormont did not mislike the manner of dress here, which left Daenerys’ small, perfect left breast bared to him. Him, and every other man in Qarth, he amended, his knife scraping on the painted porcelain of his plate as he stabbed his meat rather more savagely than was considered polite. Not that Xaro Xhoan Daxos—who was scowling over his bejeweled beak of a nose at Jorah—appreciated the view. Did Daenerys understand what manner of man had offered his hand in marriage? Was she seriously considering it?

The questions, and their answers, fled Jorah’s mind, the conversations around the table reduced to an unintelligible hum, like a hive of bees, when Daenerys raised her wine glass, turning in her chair in toward one of the other guests so that her breast was completely unobscured to him. A more honorable knight than Jorah would have looked away, but no one had ever accused him of possessing a great deal of that quality. Gods knew if he had, he wouldn’t be here to ogle the queen’s breast to begin with…

Against the violet silk, which was meant to bring out the color of her eyes, her skin looked paler than he knew it to be, bronzed from the long weeks exposed to the relentless desert sun in the Red Waste and Vaes Tolorro; in contrast, her nipple had darkened to a deep pink, almost plum. He imagined his thumb pressed to that nipple, teasing it to a point as he cupped the small round breast in his hand…

Withdrawing his hand into his lap, he chafed his fingers across his thigh. He _must not_ continue this line of thinking. Daenerys Targaryen was a beautiful woman, in whose company he found himself for almost the entirety of every day. She was beautiful in whatever she wore, and comfortable, be it this Qartheen gown, the riding leathers which hugged her arse like a second skin as she bounced in the saddle day after day in the Dothraki Sea, even the matted pelt of a _hrakkar_ Khal Drogo had slain for her in Lhazar.

At the thought of fur, Jorah tried to cool his ardor by imagining her on his island, bundled up in layers from top to toe against the bitter cold… Sweat prickled on the back of his neck beneath the collar of his woolen tunic…That was no good, either, for his traitor mind conjured up the bearskin rug in his lord’s bedchamber, instead, Daenerys stretched out atop it without a stitch on _her_.  

"…isn’t that so, Ser Jorah?" her voice filled his ears with a sudden startling clarity.

He looked up, his eyes locking across the table with the purple ones that matched that bloody breast-baring gown.

"I…" His mouth was dry. He raised his hand to take up his goblet, and gulped his wine. He had absolutely no idea what she had asked him to agree with. Clearing his throat, he muttered, "It is, exactly, as her grace says."

She smiled prettily and, apparently requiring no further contribution from him but this agreement, went on with whatever conversation. Jorah went on with his wine, sighing into the cup at his narrow escape.

Afterward, as he escorted Daenerys back to their apartments in another wing of Xaro’s palace, she tucked her small hand into the crook of his arm, walking so close beside him that Jorah must look almost directly down to meet the gaze she cut up at him.

"You seemed distracted tonight at dinner, my bear. Deep in thought?"

It was hard to say, because the bare breast with its pert nipple bounced as they walked, but he thought when he dragged his eyes upward that he saw a glimmer of mischief in hers.

"Aye, my queen. Deep in thought."


End file.
